Bleached

I pulled the lid off the plastic bin

and the smell of 1994 hit the back of my throat.

That sharp, chemical sting of the deep end,

the kind that makes your eyes burn red

until you look like you’ve been crying for days.

The swimsuit is stiff and small,

but the towel is what breaks me—

navy blue, turned a grainy, salt-crusted white

where the bleach ate the color away.

My skin still feels pruned and tight

just looking at it.